It's been some time since we've experienced an active showing of the northern lights in Minnesota. Therefore, when I received the alerts for possible auroral activity at 3:15 AM, I quickly dressed, bundled up, and headed out into the crisp -8F darkness, all while a seemingly more sensible side of me was being tugged back to the comfort of my bed.

I drove to a location about six miles north of where I live in Sauk Rapids. Immediately after exiting the light of the city, I saw the unmistakable lights dancing in the sky. With colors ranging from green to blue to purple to red, the show of light lasted right up to dawn. The emerging light of day gradually overpowered the continuing auroral show.

Of the four displays of aurora borealis I have seen in my life (all within the past 14 months), in my opinion, this one ranks at the very top of that list for color and second for overall activity and dynamics.

What luck it was to witness this magnificent green light in the northern sky during the wee hours of St. Patrick's Day. I wouldn't have traded it for a four-leafed clover!

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It was not even one month ago when I saw my first view of the northern lights on Lake Superior's North Shore. I didn't think round two would come so quickly. This time, for better or for worse, I was at home. I knew, due to the highly-publicized nature of the solar storm that triggered these auroras, that I would be venturing out well after dark in pursuit of the elusive lights. This image was captured about five miles north of my Sauk Rapids, MN home.

As with my previous experience with the aurora, the light was discernible with the naked eye with some faint color, but the camera was necessary to truly capture the color and brightness.

It's been quite an unusual winter so far here in Minnesota with unseasonably warm temperatures and a lack of that white stuff which half of us love and half of us hate. Photographers looking to capture classic Minnesota winter scenes have been out of luck thus far.

In contrast, in the four years I have been photographing January's full moon at Split Rock Lighthouse, the moon has never failed to make its appearance. Like clockwork, the moon slipped above the horizon, on schedule, at 4:18 PM and continued its ascent as sunlight faded. As the sun set, the eastern sky took on a pink hue that seems to be most evident on these clear winter evenings.


As daylight faded further, the pink transitioned to blue. This period of blue sky is known as the "blue hour" to photographers.

It has been a goal of mine each year to capture the moon centered directly behind the lantern of the lighthouse as it makes its trajectory. This is somewhat challenging as there is only a small window of opportunity in which this shot can be made. Once the moon is above the lighthouse, it is too late.

There is always a sense of awe in watching the full moon in the first minutes after clearing the horizon. Its apparent size seems to, at times, defy the imagination.

It was thirty-six years ago on November 10 when a large iron ore freighter encountered a fierce November storm on Lake Superior and, despite modern technology, succumbed to its ravages. This ship, of course, was the Edmund Fitzgerald. The freighter and its 29 crew members were later immortalized in Gordon Lightfoot's song, The Wreck of the Edmund Fitzgerald. While visitors congregated near the lighthouse on this evening for a variety of reasons, I think most, at least in the backs of their minds, gave some thought to the true reasons behind this beacon lighting and the lighthouse itself.

Indeed, photography was the primary motivator that brought me to the lighthouse on this evening. But, it wasn't the beacon lighting itself that piqued my interest this year. I was anticipating what would have been a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to photograph, in ideal lighting, the full moon rising from behind the lighthouse on the very night the beacon is lighted every year. My hopes were obscured by a low deck of clouds that refused to part to show the heavenly orb's conjunction with Split Rock's lantern.

A full moon on any given night of the year occurs, on average, about once every 30 years. Thus, a November 10th full moon is a relatively rare occurrence. Often, however, the night before the day of a full moon is suitable (and sometimes preferred) for landscape photography containing the moon. Nevertheless, in examining moonrise times and positions for November 10ths spanning the next 125 years, I have found no future opportunities to photograph the full moon rising from directly behind the lighthouse under good lighting conditions during the beacon lighting events. A handful of full moons on or near November 10 will occur over this period, but none of them will be nearly as ideal, in both azimuth and timing, as this year's would have been if not for the clouds.

Without the moon visible, I took an unusually minimal approach to my photography - I clicked the shutter only twelve times during the entire evening. The photograph you see here is one of them, made near the spot I captured my iconic image, Lunar Light at Full Power, about two years ago. It is not the stereotypical view of the lighthouse overlooking an expansive Lake Superior. I like this composition for the conifers on the rocky point, giving the lighthouse setting a more isolated, northwoods feel.

Was I disappointed in not seeing the full moon on that evening? Of course. But then, in trying to keep the context in mind, I reached into the back of my mind and remembered the real reason I was there. The 29 men aboard the Fitzgerald that fateful night 36 years ago missed so much more.